'Easy, Kalus. That's William. We'll go down together.'
There in the depression, stiff introductions were made. Kalus, with the help of Smith beside him, managed to restrain his emotions, though making no attempt to conceal them. For his own part, William sneered at him indifferently, and continued to bathe Sylviana with mock interest and open lust. His only reply to her question, 'Why haven't I seen you before?' was a rude:
'Him Tarzan, you Jane. Me come back tomorrow.' And he had taken some food, without asking or thanks, and made off the way he had come.
'How can you let him treat you that way?' demanded Kalus.
Since the question was directed at no one in particular, Ruth Welles replied, neither apologizing nor defending their actions. She was a tall, serious woman in her mid thirties, with pincers of brown hair surrounding a pleasant face and striking eyes, which revealed to those who knew how to look, a nature both stubborn and compassionate.
'That's just his way,' she said, 'And there are reasons for it. We've all been hurt and bereft by the War, but his pain….. Let's just say it's much harder for him to forgive and go one, and that we're all worried about him, because we do care.'
'But he won't let anyone come close enough to help him,' added Smith. 'He storms in and out for food, occasionally takes wine or medicine along with it, and that's all we ever see of him. We helped him set up a laboratory, before we knew what it was for. We considered smashing it afterward, but what can you do for someone who makes his own poison, and flaunts his own destruction?'
'Why?' asked Sylviana. 'What does he use the lab for?'
'To make LSD,' said Welles sadly. 'If there were poppies on the island, no doubt he'd make heroin as well.'
Kalus found himself breathing heavily, unable to control it. He began to pace a short distance from them, then suddenly turned and came back, his manner tense and worried.